-Emprical
by BabyBlion
Summary: It's hard to believe someone so small grew to be the last one at all. Why did you lose yourself, sweet heiress? Was it the blood or the crown? The fame or the clown? What will you do to become the harsh empress?


_Empirical_

Running and hiding is said to be the coward's way out, and yet who's the one lying dead on the sand? Certainly not you. Scared, yes, but still very much alive. Your breathing is shaky, now that you are in the clear. They're gone. You're safe.

Your name is Meenah Peixes, and you are a young seadweller, born of the utmost royalty there is. You are an heiress, a princess in line for the throne. Low bloods would fall at your feet in reverence. _And yet here I am, forced to fight like a woofbeast for the entertainment of some schmucks I don't even know_ _._ Slowly, you uncurl your your legs from under your chin, crawling towards the entrance of your hiding spot, a small crack in the rocks far below the ocean surface. Only someone who was specifically looking for it could find it, but you still don't feel very secure staying in one place too long. It's only a matter of time.

Peeking outside, the world around you is vast and colorful, charming to say the least, but to you, this place is your bleak watery hell. You've never been able to take the time to enjoy anything. Every second spent here is a risk, but on land, you would be at an even bigger disadvantage. Ironically, that's where you know you will eventually have to travel to. There is no avoiding nor escaping from the Coronation Trials. The waterlogged corpse lying on their grave confirms it, rich tyrian blood gently oozes out and dilutes in the water. It's a disgusting and harsh reality you must endure. As if the trials you went through as a grub weren't enough.

"This is crasea… " You words are shaky when they leave your breath as you shimmy your way back into your makeshift hive. You'll have to wait until it's closer to day, a time when most trolls are keeping themselves out of the harsh sun's rays. You'll most likely be safe then. Hopefully. It's been a whole perigee since you were forced to flee from your home, and you miss your lusus terribly. Even though it never really showed much interest in you, at least there you would be safe. You hope that they ate enough to last you until you can be reunited, whenever that will be if at all.

The idea of death is off-putting to you, but it's your entire life. You just want to live forever and never have to deal with this anxiety ever again. Or at least live to see your next wriggling day, if that isn't too much to ask for. You'll be six sweeps by then. It's a miracle that you've even made it this far in life, though it helped that for most of your life, you lived in complete isolation. Unfortunately, that means at the beginning of your journey, you also knew considerably less than your rivaling heiresses. Even now, you barely know how to use your trident other than to stab a few wild lusii with it, and you can't see yourself using it to kill a troll. But she wants you to.

Absentmindedly, you run your thumb over the mark on your wrist, burned into your skin by her thin white wand. Her symbol is embedded there to remind you of your suicide mission.

 _Kill the empress, take her crown, and reign._

You tried to tell her that there is no killing at the coronation trials. Every few sweeps, any and all heiresses are formally invited to a tournament, with the end goal of being able to take on the current empress in battle. It's a fair fight, and should the empress be bested, the winning heiress is crowned and hailed as the new queen of Alternia. There has never been blood shed on those floors.

Of course, that's not all there is to it. Within the pristine halls of the palace, there is undoubted justice and honor, but outside of them, trolls always show their true colors and intentions. Murdering the competition behind the scenes is all too common, and everyone willingly turns a blind eye to it. What's more is that both high and mid bloods flock there to observe, treating the Coronation Trials as some sort of celebration, albeit with equally corrupt ulterior motives. Though it's never said outright, there are often bets, bribes, and ultimately interference. The perks of being so small is that you're able to hide better and overhear these things. You've learned a thing or two from blabbermouths after all this time, but you also know that you will never be in anyones favor.

You're a runt after all. No one will want to support you nor place a single bet. Surely, you will be the first to lose in battle, shadowed enough by the others to be slaughtered in silence. Who would even know you were gone? But she made it clear that you would rise above all and claim the glory of the crown, though, she never said how. She never answers your questions directly, if at all. It's frustrating, but sometimes, you're not really sure if you want to know what she really wants from you. The world of adult trolls frightens you. One more glance at the dead body sends a shiver down your spine. Will you have blood on your hands one day too? Your palms are so tiny and small. You're scared of the future.


End file.
